


Nocturne

by NotPersephone



Series: The Alienist & The Count [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Doctor/Patient, F/M, bedannibalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: A sudden sense of dread takes shape, amplifying her senses, but before she gets a chance to move again, a sound of an approaching carriage reaches her ears. She stops it immediately and gets on. Once the door closes, she sighs in relief, attempting to shake off her paranoia. After all, she is seeing a patient in an hour.





	Nocturne

Bedelia Du Maurier is not faint-hearted. During her studies at the medical school, she didn’t bat an eye during the anatomy classes. While her male colleagues, the ones who usually regarded her with disdain, had trouble keeping their composure, she stood in the front of the room, watching with fascination, eager to learn the secrets of the human body. Perhaps knowing that the flesh has it limits, is what eventually lead her to pursue the mysteries of the mind and its undiscovered depths.

Nor does she give into fear. To live alone in such a metropolis, one needs to remain intrepid at all times.

But now, walking down Oxford Street, she feels uneasy. The autumn is her favourite time of the year and she had spent a quiet afternoon strolling around Hyde Park. She loves the stillness of the space and vibrant colours, setting the trees aflame, tossed in the middle of the industrial wilderness of the city. To Bedelia, it is a perfect contradiction. But the sun favours the sky for only few hours that late in the year and before she had noticed, the coloured light faded and gave way to a grey dark.

By the time she reached the main street, the night had taken over in full. The street is uncommonly empty; the shops fronts are all closed and the houses appear to be vacant. The only sound is the gentle swish of her dress as she walks briskly, anxious to return home as soon as possible. Bedelia looks for a passing carriage, but they seemed to have vanished along with the pedestrians.

A strange sensation that she is being watched washes over her like a pitcher of cold water. She considers stopping to look around, but decides against it, holding her head up straight and continuing on her way.

It is not like Bedelia to succumb to false panic. The constant news of murders floods the papers and she ignores them for the most part. But the latest one struck a chord even with her; a woman found dead in her own bed, her body mutilated beyond recognition, her heart missing. The scene was described with painstaking details. The city lusted for blood and horror and the press delivered. The popularity of penny dreadfuls was growing each week. Perhaps that was the reason behind the killer’s increasing savagery; he was providing a public service in the most twisted of ways.

Bedelia nearly shrieks when someone runs in front of her, but it is merely an urchin, gone as soon as he appeared, just another ghost lost in the machine of this city. This is absurd, she tells herself and dispels her apprehension.

But the feeling of being watched returns; more malicious now, sending a shiver down her spine. This time Bedelia stops and gazes around her. The street lamps only illuminate a few feet around its post and it is hard to see through the dark. But she spots him still; a man standing in one of the side lanes on the opposite side of the street. He is leaning against the wall, a cap on his head, preventing her from seeing his face. A sudden sense of dread takes shape, amplifying her senses, but before she gets a chance to move again, a sound of an approaching carriage reaches her ears. She stops it immediately and gets on. Once the door closes, she sighs in relief, attempting to shake off her paranoia. After all, she is seeing a patient in an hour.

 

Count Hannibal Lecter had been attending her sessions for the last month.

After the brief, interesting first meeting, their first proper session started off with what might have been seen as another attempt to court her. It seemed hard for him to brush aside the guise he presented to the public, but he did eventually and what she saw beneath it was far more intriguing than what the glossy exterior suggested.

Bedelia was surprised to learn that her new patient’s lodgings are not that far away from here, in Russell Square. She would expect a man of his background to feel more comfortable in a grander area, but he appreciated the treasures of the British Museum, now constantly growing under the patronage of the Parliament.

“The privileges of being an Empire,” he said, a subtle note of sadness in his voice.

“It must hard for you, since it was an empire that took your home,” she gently encouraged him to continue.

“More than my home,” he said and his sadness was more tangible now.

But he did not mention his family, not until the next meeting.

“Our estate was attacked by the Imperial Russian army during the January Uprising,” twenty minutes into their session, he returned to the topic at hand, “They accused my parents of helping the insurgents.”

His parents were killed on a spot, him and his sister were held captive. The winter was extremely cold and the soldiers were not willing to return to fighting, especially against a rebellion relying on armed civilians and ambushes. Hannibal managed to escape, but what had become of his sister, he had not told her.

Not yet, that is. The subject seemed to be particularly painful to him and although he came to her willingly, she sensed a constant struggle within him; a desire to reveal himself and to keep things concealed were fighting for the upper hand in his mind. With each session, she became more accustomed to the slightest shifts in his tone, began to learn to read between his words and find meaning in his silences.

Hannibal reminded her of an apothecary cabinet, countless drawers with hidden contents. That is why she did not rush their sessions; she looked forward to slowly enfolding him piece by piece.

The hours passed quickly and they did not feel like medical sessions, but as though they were simply having conversations. She did not mind, no, she _took pleasure_ in it. Perhaps that was exactly why he came to her, searching for someone who would not perceive him through the exotic grandeur of his title and the construct of his social façade. She sympathized with him; her constant struggle to be taken with earnest intent was exhausting. Bedelia felt comfortable in his presence, a strange sensation, he was her patient after all.

They even discussed The Ripper case; Hannibal found his crimes lacking finesse, a curious remark, but Bedelia couldn’t help but to agree.

 

She recalls their conversation now, in the safety of her home once more, still shaken by what had occurred.

Hannibal arrives perfectly on time and the session starts off as per usual. Bedelia is pleased to put the chance sighting behind her, but her mind keeps drifting back to the events of her evening. She does not realize when her patient stops talking.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” a genuine concern is his voice.

She is suddenly aware of a tremble in her right hand resting on her notepad.

“Yes,” she tries to compose herself, “I apologise. I had an unfortunate encounter earlier this evening.”

“What kind of encounter?” his gaze suddenly sharp and Bedelia could swear there are specks of scarlet among the amber brown of his eyes.

“I saw- “she hesitates, “I thought I saw a suspicious looking man as I was walking down Oxford Street. I am sure it was nothing, just a mental distress induced by all the news of the murders.”

Bedelia averts her eyes, feeling foolish for sharing too much; she does not want to appear as a fragile creature, one that frets easily.

“This city can be very dangerous. You are right to look out for yourself,” he says sensing her apprehension. He appears to be as attuned to the changes of her mind, as she is to his.

“But I can assure you that you are safe,” he reaches his hand and covers hers.

Her eyes meet his at once and she swallows a gasp, but Hannibal looks to be more surprised by his bold gesture than she is. His touch is gentle and his skin is unexpectedly soft. The contact is brief, Hannibal retreats his hand immediately, but Bedelia can still feel the warmth of his skin lingering on hers. Her trembling abates.

“I apologise,” he says, turning his gaze away.

The clock strikes the hour concealing the sound of Bedelia’s rapidly beating heart.

 

The following day, the paper reports on another murder, but it is not The Ripper’s doing this time. It pales by comparison and Bedelia doubts it would have been printed if it hadn’t been for the fully awaken need for sensational stories. A man was found dead on New Bond Street; his neck was broken. A thief, usually known to operate on the East End. The Ripper must be bad for all business, causing him to cross to the west, but it did no benefit him in the end. There is a sketch of the man beneath the article. Bedelia looks at a familiar cap, the same one she saw last evening. She waits for the fear she felt yesterday to stir anew within her, but it does not; the only sensation she remembers is the warmth of Hannibal’s skin.

There must be a guardian angel watching over her. Or rather someone _other_ , no angels can survive in this city. But Bedelia is not disturbed by this thought, it makes her feel safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who had encouraged me to continue this story! ♥  
> I did not want to include too many facts/dates in fear of overcrowding the story, so have a little history here: the victim referred to by Bedelia is Mary Jane Kelly, believed to be The Ripper's last victim, killed in November 1888, a very gruesome death. The January Uprising was an uprising of the former Polish-Lithuanian Kingdom against the Russian Empire, the part of it that was under the Russian rule to be exact (they got the biggest chunk, the rest was spilt between Austria and Prussia). It took place in 1863-64.
> 
> I enjoy this universe immensely, so they might be more of it in the future. Thank you for reading and for your feedback!


End file.
